


Catholic Boarding School AU

by duck_poot, G0tdem0nst0fight



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - High School, Catholic School, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-02-03
Packaged: 2018-01-10 02:30:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1153708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duck_poot/pseuds/duck_poot, https://archiveofourown.org/users/G0tdem0nst0fight/pseuds/G0tdem0nst0fight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rated Explicit for future updates//Fresh tags will be added later as needed</p><p>Dean Winchester and his brother Sam had been shipped off to Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrow Catholic Academy in Montana about a month ago after their dad finally got it through his thick skull that dragging them around cross country was no way to raise a pair of growing boys. Or at least uncle Bobby finally hammered that bit into him, and for that Dean was grateful. But when he envisioned settling down someplace where Sammy could get all the schooling his nerdy little heart yearned for, he’d never figured they’d end up at boarding school. Much less an all boys Catholic boarding school. </p><p>Now aside from an obsession with blasting classical music--something Dean found practically friggin' unhealthy--Castiel, his roommate at the Academy, wasn't all that bad either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mars (Prologue)

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably going to be, or at least start off as, more of a chronological series of ficlets revolving around an AU where Cas and Dean are roommates at a Catholic boarding school. (Rather than yakno one of those beautiful epic novel-like AUs.)

Dean let out the loudest sigh he could muster. The jarring tones of Led Zeppelin’s “Communication Breakdown” coming from his headphones grew louder in a vain attempt to wash away the _relentless triple fortés_ and _heavy dissonance of Gustav Holst’s “Mars”_ , courtesy of his roommate Castiel.

Don’t get him wrong, Dean liked the guy. He may have been a bit on the weird side, but the kid was pretty cool compared to the other stiffs around here.

Well as cool as any Catholic school boy could be, Dean excluded.

He and his brother had been shipped off to Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrow Catholic Academy in Montana about a month ago after their dad finally got it through his thick skull that dragging them around cross country was no way to raise a pair of growing boys. Or at least uncle Bobby finally hammered that bit into him, and for that Dean was grateful. But when he envisioned settling down someplace where Sammy could get all the schooling his nerdy little heart yearned for, he’d never figured they’d end up at boarding school. Much less an all boys Catholic boarding school.

This was pretty much the exact opposite of what he had in mind.

He’d been thinking (hoping, wishing, practically praying) that his dad would finally give up hunting down scumbags, get a funky little place in the midwest, and stick him and Sam in some generic high school where kids still played football. (A real American-blooded school, unlike the kind of places they’d sampled in the past where everyone played lacrosse, or they played softball instead of baseball--those places were all bullcrap in his opinion.) Really Dean just wanted something normal to hold onto, something that would feel right.

But what’d they get instead? They got dumped with the holy-rollin’ crew of rich white kids with a superiority complex.

Dad didn’t even care much that it was Catholic. John Winchester probably gave up his Faith a long time ago. It was just when his old ex-bounty hunter buddy and family friend, Father Jim Murphy, told him he could get the two of them a free ride on the Saintly Boarding School express that his dad even considered it.

At least _Samantha_ was pleased. He was going nuts over the “curriculum.”

Seriously though, who the fuck got excited over learning Latin?

A kid his age should be jonesing for his first skin mags, not spending their free time in the library over dusty tomes that probably hadn’t been opened in at least a half-century. As much as he teased him for it, he was still glad Sam was happy. If he was happy, Dean would find a way to be happy.

And like he said, his roommate wasn’t all that bad.

Castiel Collins was real quiet sometimes. Still, it didn’t take long for Dean to start picking up on what all his subtleties meant. From what he’d noticed he didn’t have the best people skills, but the kid wasn’t as oblivious as he pretended to be at times. Dean was actually pretty sure he faked not getting shit around certain people ‘cause they annoyed the friggin’ hell outta him. It was a kick to watch, especially when his patience snapped and he’d go all wrathful on anyone who rubbed him the wrong way.

It didn’t help much that the guy was still freakily kind to him. Not all gung’ho like some overeager ‘Welcome to the Academy’ geek but just… nice.

He wasn’t used to nice, and to be honest he felt kind of bashful about it. Not that he’d ever admit it.

He knew Castiel had noticed right away that Dean wasn’t the praying type, and he neither condemned nor encouraged him for it, simply offered him some help with his Religious Studies if it was ever needed. He knew that he noticed Dean using an old walkman cassette player even though his phone was MP3 capable and pointed out a music store not too far from campus that still kept an decent stock on tapes.

The guy was just good.

His looks were pretty damn good too, and man did the kid work the Academy uniform.

Frankly, Dean had to snap out of some embarrassingly obvious stares on a near day-to-day basis. Cause if there was one thing he could bet on, it was that this kinda shit definitely wouldn’t fly around here.

Hell the only downside he’d found in his roomate so far was the guy’s obsession with classical music. It would’ve been almost endearing if it weren’t so damn annoying. It was always _Tchaikovsky_ this, or _Beethoven_ that. Or _Dean I can’t believe you don’t like Jaqueline DuPré’s rendition of Elgar’s cello concerto in E minor. Do you even have emotions?_ Dean supposed that his enthusiasm wasn’t so bad, but Castiel, who like Dean seemed to favor purer variants when it came to how people should listen to music, loved to play his old records for hours and hours on end.

And it was always loud as fuck.

It didn’t bother him often and damn if he wasn’t starting to dig some of the dude’s tunes but would it kill him to play some Sabbath every now and then?

Dean turned over in his bed a couple times and finally gave up. He let out a noise that was half-growl half-sigh and popped out his ear buds before stalking over to the dark-haired boy with a scowl on his face.

Castiel, for his part, remained oblivious. He was sitting on his bed on the other side of the room, humming along to Gustav Holst’s _Mars--_ and seriously the only reason he even knew the name to any of this was because Cas would cut him off and correct every time he tried to refer to any of them _disrespectfully:_ ie _Dean, the proper way to refer to a classical piece is including the composer in the title--_ with a concentrated look on his face as he worked on some paper for their English Literature class. The dude looked borderline constipated.

“Castiel.” No response.

“Castiel.” Again, nothing.

Dean huffed and gripped a hand around his shoulder. “Cas.”

Blue eyes shot up to his face blankly, not really seeing him for a moment. Castiel squinted before shaking out of his stupor, thoughts of Lord Tennyson’s In Memoriam dropping out of his head as he started to really focus on his roommate.

“Yes, Dean?” He asked, the vexation in his tone was thinly veiled.

Dean’s jaw twitched as he clenched his teeth together at the attitude. “You think you could turn that down a bit?” He nodded towards the record player that took up most of the space on Castiel’s nightstand, his hand slipping away from Cas’s shoulder. He knew he wasn’t out of line but he couldn’t fight feeling like he was bugging the guy. It made him feel almost guilty.

It made him mad that he felt almost guilty.

Shit, if he really thought about it, he’d be pissed ‘cause if anyone was out of line it was Castiel, playing his loud ass classical bullshit, fuckin five hours a day and seven on weekends.

Castiel simply rolled his eyes, turning his attention back towards the work in front of him.   
“Dean please,” He grumbled,  “It’s not even that loud.”

 _Not even that loud, my ass._ It was a wonder the nuns hadn’t come to reprimand them for all the noise, but if there was one good thing about living in an old school it’s the thick as ‘shit-brick’ walls. It also helped that their dorm room was all the way at the end of the hall, ‘cause apparently Cas’s family made sure he got the good digs.

The guy probably wasn’t even supposed to have a roommate but he got saddled at the last minute with none other than Dean Winchester, crowding in on his personal space. (He expects it’s karma that Cas did that often enough to him in a much more literal sense.)

Dean stepped in front of the record player, lips pulled down in an annoyed grimace as he scratched the needle lightly from the record and the room silenced with a loud static noise.

Castiel was up within half a second of noticing what Dean was doing. “Hey!” He irritation oozing from Cas was near physical as he stomped in front of him, putting his body between Dean and his beloved vinyl player. “What was the hell that for?”

Dean’s annoyance plummeted, his shoulders slumping as his mood took a nosedive in the opposite direction.

The guy was just tired. “Come on man, I can’t even hear myself think over there.”   

“Think about what?” Castiel asked, his tone defensive. He gestured towards the mess of papers on his bed and the exasperated expression on his face really did made him look like he needed to poop.

Dean would’ve laughed if he was in the laughing mood.

“It’s not like you’re working on anything.” Cas sighed. “What are you even doing, Dean?” His petulance had slowly died down and gave way to genuine, albeit hesitant, curiosity.

Meditating.

That was basically what Dean had been doing. Or rather he was laying in bed, sulking. (And for the record, even that was impossible over Castiel’s damn music.)

He’d been thinking about his family, mostly.

The only true purpose he’d had in his family was to take care of Sammy, cause Sammy was special, Sammy was smart and Dean was making sure his little brother grew up okay while his dad went off and hunted down bad guys. His dad was a hero. But now that they were at boarding school his workload was pretty much gone, he didn’t have to worry about Sam the same way. It should be great news, but Dean wasn’t accustomed to this.

He felt off-balance, like he was walking across a 50-foot tightrope with no safety-net.

He didn’t have a purpose anymore and that was freaking him out.

In addition to seventeen year-old hormones and the general fear that he was gonna disappoint his father. So yeah, Dean was a little stressed out.

Laying in bed and listening to his favorite band was just an attempt to drown all that bullshit away. He wanted to blame Cas’s music for not letting him do that, but deep down he knew he’d just been picking a fight.

His tired eyes raked over Castiel’s appearance--wide blue eyes that shone with poorly masked concern, tie loosened and askew over a mussed up uniform (Dean would completely deny the way his gaze lingered for a second too long over the tiny dip in his sternum, exposed by the undid buttons on his standard white dress shirt), stubble that half the guys in their year would kill to be able to grow, and of course the mess of dark hair that was obviously disheveled from the way Cas ran those long fingers through them as he worked.

(Yeah, Dean was definitely going to hell. He needed to get a grip, the kid was practically a choir boy-- there had to be some kind of major sin for lusting after a guy like that in a place like this)

He was also being a dick for all the wrong reasons and he knew it.

So he sighed and mumbled a half-hearted ‘Nothing’, deciding that his brief friendship with Cas was too special for stupid arguments about record players. (Which, yeah shut up, he knew that was a really fuckin’ girly thought)

He cleared his throat and rubbed a mildly-nervous hand at the back of his neck. “Nevermind, Cas. Just… just keep playin’ it. It’s my bad.”  

Castiel was aware he did not have the best social skills but he knew how to observe people. He picked up on their tells, as Dean called them, on their emotions by how they held themselves. Certain things he wasn’t great at, but he got the jist of common sentiment among humanity. When it came to his roommate though, he felt out of his depth. Especially in moments such as these when his range of expression flowed through emotions in a way that he didn’t know how to decipher. Dean’s face had gone from being disgruntled to being dejected to being slightly abashed, and now the longer Castiel stared at him the more it started to shift towards… fondness?

He cocked his head to the side. “What?”

“It’s nothing. I’m just bein’ pissy. Play it as loud as you want.” Dean gave him a soft smile and turned his back on Castiel, retreating his bed with every intention of retiring for the night when he was stopped by a warm hand on his shoulder.

“No, wait.”  Castiel instinctively squeezed Dean’s shoulder for a second before he pulled his hand away. He exhaled, “I apologize, Dean. It  was really selfish of me. I’ll try and find my headphones or something.” He told him solemnly, his expression slightly penitent for his minor transgression despite the fact Dean tried to tell him again that it really wasn’t a big deal.

Dean shook his head and small smile spread slowly across his face. “Thanks, Cas.”


	2. The Martian Chronicles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean helps Cas with an assignment for their English Lit class.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The work they're analyzing is a short story from Ray Bradbury's book The Martian Chronicles, the story is titled August 2026: There Will Come Soft Rains and can be found here: http://www.elizabethskadden.com/files/therewillcomesoftrainsbradbury.pdf

“No, Cas. I told you, the point of the story is not the technology.” Dean repeated, for what felt like the 20th time.

The duo were crowded together in one of the study cubicles in the library, trying to analyze essay topics for Ray Bradbury’s _August 2026: There Will Come Soft Rains_.

Normally Cas would be helping him with his Religious Studies or Dean would be sitting in the corner reading comic books (hidden in his calculus textbook, of course) while his roommate and little brother geeked out over Latin translations or something, but today it was Dean’s turn to play professor.

It had taken a while for him to realize Cas needed help- the kid didn’t really play well with others (well except Dean, and by default Sam) cause of all the sass he dealt out. Other people just had a hard time ‘getting’ him like the Winchesters did. Because of that he kept to himself at times--especially while studying, since he knew Dean didn’t dig that kinda stuff as much as he did and Sam was below their grade level.

Dean only noticed when he happened to see Cas’s composition book fall open one day. He realized the thing was pretty much blank (and honestly whatever annotations he’d made were shitty as hell) compared to his own, which happened to be packed to the brim with notes.

Cas just needed to learn when to swallow his pride. He knew very well this was Dean’s best subject. (Hell, books were pretty much just movies on paper and the upside to watching a lot of TV is that Dean got real good at analyzing shit.)

Dean still thought it was obvious Cas was the smarter boy out of the two, it’s just he wasn’t that great when it came to metaphors--and that’s what literature was: metaphors.

Castiel sighed dramatically. “But Dean, the whole story is surrounded by technology. There is literally _nothing but technology,_ ” He emphasized once more, as if they hadn’t just read and reread the chapter twice.

Dean’s eyes reached for the heavens and he almost considered praying for guidance in dealing with someone as literal as Cas.

He opened the journal in front of him and slanted it towards his roommate so he could peer at the scribbles he’d made the first time he read the book. “Science fiction normally uses things like this as a metaphor.” He highlights a few bullet points. “In this case I think it represents more than just one thing.”

Castiel leaned in very close to peer into his journal, close enough that if Dean wanted to bury his nose in that mess of dark hair he’d have to move less than an inch. As it was, he could still smell something distinctly fresh coming from Castiel, and if he got closer maybe a hint of-- Dean cleared his throat, shaking the scent away from his mind so he could get back on track. He was glad Cas was one of the few people who could decipher his handwriting because all his thoughts of _The Martian Chronicles_  faded away as soon as the proximity between them grew smaller.

Luckily he seemed to be getting it, his gaze laser-focused on Dean’s annotations and not noting the set of green eyes that had been melting over him.

Dean sighed, trying to shake off the odd warm feeling that had spread throughout his body. He squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to focus, fingers pressing against his temples. “Everyone usually points out how the Teasdale poem foreshadows the way the house goes down extra crispy, but I always dug the parallel between the poem and the house itself. The point of the poem was that nature doesn’t give a damn if we’re alive or dead, like the seasons don’t stop whether or not humans are tramplin all over the earth. The house does the same thing, it doesn’t notice that the family isn’t there so it’s just goin through the motions even though the people are gone. ”

For a moment, it was dead quiet.

His cheeks grew warm as he wondered why Cas hadn’t said anything. Had Dean confused him? Maybe it was the opposite. Maybe his interpretation of the book had been so incredibly stupid that Cas was simply speechless.

Yeah, that was probably it.

Slowly, Dean opened his eyes, half expecting to find Castiel smirking or trying to hide his laughter. Instead he was met with an almost reverent look, blue eyes wide and glassy, staring with his mouth slightly agape.

“...Cas? You alright, buddy?”

“Dean you’re a genius.”

“...What?”

Dean certainly didn’t feel like a genius. He knew he had that stupid dumbstruck look on his face ‘cause he was still trying to process why anyone, let alone a guy like Cas, would look at him like the sun shone out of his ass.

Everything felt hotter as he fumbled around trying to look for something else to focus on, something to divert Castiel’s attention away from himself and whatever praise he had. Praise Dean knew had to be false.

He tried to hide how he squirmed in his seat by scooting closer to Cas, their thighs pressing together in a way that made it Cas’s turn to squirm and had Dean’s heart beating just a little bit louder in his ears.

“So, um, I think you’d probably write a good essay on this part.”

His hand brushed Castiel’s as he underlined something else in his journal, the contact gave them both goosebumps.

“Its, uh, kinda awesome actually--” Dean gives Cas a sideways glance. A sheepish grin graced his lips momentarily, small and crooked as he admitted to something as nerdy as finding homework _awesome._ “--Bradbury sort of uses the technology to like represent things about humanity that just never change, like the way he rhymes things. Sammy used to sing that same nursery rhyme whenever it rained. Or the way robochick repeats the date three times so they won’t forget and remind them about all the bills they gotta pay and who’s birthday it is.”

Castiel nodded in understanding, his eyes skimming over the other boy’s notes as he tried (and failed) to remain unaffected by his presence. “So what you’re saying is the technology is really a reflection of aspects about humanity that surpasses the evolution of time. It is a tool to give us an impression of the family that lived there, their humanity, in turn leaving us with a sense of nostalgia.”

He turned towards Dean, blue eyes bright with excitement, only to find Dean staring back, expression mirroring his own.

“I knew you’d get it, Cas.” He breathed, the grin on his face was anything but sheepish this time.

Castiel swelled with pride at the compliment, his smile hesitant but clearly pleased. It was only then that the two boys noticed just how small the space between them was. Maybe if they could just lean in a little closer and--

That’s when Sam showed up, bubbly and chatting about how Father Jim said he had permission to sign their slips to go into town on weekends starting next week ‘cause even though their dad wasn’t around, John had given him the verbal OK.

Dean started back, enlarging the distance between him and Castiel to focus on his little brother.

“...And we can go visit Ellen! Jo texted me and told me about this cool comic book store nearby, and maybe Cas can come and we can go to that music shop he told you about.”

Dean forced a smile, sliding his eyes towards his roommate. “How ‘bout it, Cas? Then you can pick up some of those damn records you love so much.”

Castiel sat up straighter, a frown on his face. He could tell when Dean was being honest with his expressions. Dean’s smiles, the real ones at least, reminded him of summer and sunshine--somewhere that warm year-round and definitely not reminiscent of Montana’s dreary weather. He gave his roommate a meaningful look, murmuring something about already owning _‘every classical album I could want’_ before turning towards Sam.

He hesitated, sneaking a troubled glance towards Dean, before nodding at the younger Winchester. “I would be happy to go with you guys, if Dean would have me.”

Dean choked, blushing at the way he phrased that specific sentence. (Not that Cas even noticed why he’d get flustered over _‘having him.’_ He just gave Dean a concerned look, brow furrowing in confusion.) The elder Winchester coughed, “I’d, ah, totally hav- you should come, Cas! You could meet Ellen.” And then he grinned wickedly. If anyone could tear Cas apart it was Ellen, and honestly with his attitude it’d do him some good.

Sam laughed, hazel eyes shining. “Great! I’ll go tell Father Jim.”

He left the two in a completely different atmosphere than how they’d been when he arrived, something Dean couldn’t help but noticing. He ran a hand along his neck. “Well. I’m hungry enough to eat a horse--” No surprise that Castiel rolled his eyes at that. “--So I’m gonna go grab some grub. You wanna come along?”

The dark haired boy shook his head. “No, thank you. I should keep studying,” He added, tapping the notebook with his pen.

Dean didn’t know whether to be relieved or crestfallen at the rejection so he just nodded in understanding before getting up, feeling instantly colder now that Cas’s leg wasn’t pressed up against his. “I’ll, uh, see you back at the dorm, I guess.”

Castiel stared after him with a solemn expression, unsure of what he was getting himself into.


	3. Winter Jackets and Beef Soup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys take a trip into town.

“I feel like we’re sneaking off to Hogsmead.” Dean commented, as he kicked at a hunk of gray ice. His sigh was visible in the cold.

Sam rolled his eyes. “I highly doubt Powder River County is anything like the wizarding world, Dean.”

“A girl can always dream, Sammy.” Dean quipped with a wink towards Cas.       

Castiel smirked at the two brothers. “I’m sure the most magical thing about this trip is that a school would allow three unsupervised children to fend for themselves in such weather.”

“Well it’s a good thing I’m not a child, ain’t it, Cas? But hey, if you get cold, I might letcha snuggle up with me for a bit.” The bowlegged boy leered at his friend playfully.

Castiel scoffed, although a light pink tinged his cheeks and he wasn’t entirely sure if it was just because of the cold. “I _am not_ the one who left campus with just three layers, no gloves, and no hat, Dean.” He pointed out, reminding them of the incident they’d had earlier.

Sam had shown up at their dorm to inform them that it was snowing again, as it had been nearly every day for the past month, and Cas advised them that making the trek towards town when the temperature got this low was best done bundled up heavily. Dean, of course, stubbornly protested. He and Cas squabbled about it for a good ten minutes while Sam looked on with a delighted look on his face, which had Dean snapping a quick ‘ _What the hell are you smiling about?_ ’ at him. Sam, the little wiseass, just compared him and Cas to an old married couple--which didn’t really do much to help with Dean’s resolve.

The stubborn bastard ended up leaving with just his dad’s old leather jacket, a faded green button up, and the thinnest shirt he dared to wear without freezing to death.

After a comment like Sam’s, Cas was just glad the few layers Dean _did wear_ were all long sleeves. He wouldn’t put it past his roommate to go out in just a muscle shirt, because when it came to proving a point he had absolutely no sense of self-preservation .

Even Sam and Castiel relented towards the cold weather. Cas had traded in his favored tan trench coat for something more resistant (yet possibly more ridiculous) and Sam covered up his long locks with a wool toque. A word Dean didn’t even know until he called it ‘ _the stupid flappy puffyball hat_ ’ and the other two corrected him simultaneously.

Castiel, ‘precious little baby angel’ that he is, was swaddled up in brown corduroy pants and a big puffy winter jacket, over a red sweater that had _actual white wool reindeer_ knit into it, plus a scarf and mismatched socks tucked into red galoshes.

Dean had never seen anything like it, and for once in his life he was rendered speechless.

Not that he even needed to say anything, Cas had caught his look and gave him a faceful of attitude, saying ‘ _Stop looking at me like that. We’ll see who looks ridiculous when we’re back in here and I’m the one who still has ten fingers_.’ Something Dean was worrying might not have been too far off now that they were a mile and a half away from campus and still had one more to go. He’d pretty much lost all feeling of his fingers ten minutes ago and ended up shoving his hands in the pockets of his pants. (Sam noticed and had to hold back a laugh. He knew Dean was probably upset because without gloves he wouldn’t be able to start any snowball fights.)

When the trio finally reached the outskirts of town they passed a motel called _‘Motel’_ and a diner called _‘Diner’._

Dean couldn’t hold back when the comic book store Sam had been geeking to get to just had a simple neon sign in the window that stuttered the word _‘COMICS’._

He he eyed the place incredulously and looked around towards the other establishments on the street. “Are you sure this friggin’ town isn’t just named ‘Town’; what the hell is the music shop named--‘Songs’?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “I’ll catch you guys later. Remember we have to be at Ellen’s at four.” He cast a stern look at Dean when he added that last part. He left the two older boys behind in favor of the promise of comic books, the door opening and closing behind him with the sound of tinkling bells.

Castiel turned to find Dean looking at him expectantly. He sighed. “Yes, I’ll take you to the music shop.”

They rounded the corner and Dean spotted it right away. It was not named _Songs_ , or _Music Store_ , or anything as simple as that. It was a hole-in-the-wall shop in a brick building with no windows and above its entrance was a bitchin’ wooden sign. The sign itself was real simple, just a clean cut-out of skinny block text that spelled out _‘POISON HEART.’_ What made it bitchin’ was the neon that spilled green light out the sides and in between the routed letters. He let out a low whistle. “I bet the owner’s a Ramones fan.”

Castiel furrowed his brows in a perplexed expression. “Yes, she is. How did you know?”

Dean stared at him for a second before sighing in resignation. “Remind me to school you in punk rock when we get home, Cas.”

The dark haired boy frowned but nodded in acquiescence. He hesitated for a moment, placing a hand on Dean’s arm. “I’ve got something quick I need to get from the store. If you need anything, Ash will help you. He will probably be asleep behind the counter.”

He looked a little confused and a little put-out at being left alone but he nodded reluctantly when Cas let go of his arm and walked away.

He made his way into the music store and sure enough there was a skinny dude in a denim vest and a mullet fast asleep at the counter. Dean eyed him skeptically. He cleared his throat once, and then twice, and then he tried ringing the bell at the counter near the guys face. He expected him to wake up (which he didn’t) but what he had not expected was for someone to yell out, _“ASH! Wake up and help this attractive young man.”_

Dean looked to his right to see a set of stairs and a gorgeous brunette with bright green eyes and a Ramones tank top. She gave him a cheeky smile. “He’ll be right with you, sugar.”

True to her word, Ash jumped up like he’d been electrocuted. “WHAT! Closing time?” He looked around and seemed to realize where he was before noticing Dean and squinting at him. “And what can I do for you, amigo?”

Dean’s eyebrows felt like they were gonna slip off the top of his head--seriously, what the fuck had he just walked into? He shook his head as he tried to regain his train of thought. “So, uh, you’re Ash?”

“Yes, Sir.” Ash tapped a desktop nameplate that had been placed on the counter, a nameplate that had ‘Dr. Badass’ written on it, with a satisfied look on his face.

The teen didn’t know what kind of place he expected Castiel to frequent, but it definitely wasn’t this. The people were crazy and the place itself looked more like a live-in shrine than a store. He gave a slightly unsettled chuckle. “Well, uh, word is you’re the man to see about some cassette tapes.”

“Ah,” The man with the mullet nodded in understanding, “You’ve come to the right place, young Skywalker.” He let himself out through the counter’s swinging saloon doors and beckoned Dean to follow him down an aisle of vinyl records.

Dean admired the line of decorative guitars along the walls, interspread with musical relics and signed record slips, as he trailed Ash to a section of store towards the back wall that was exclusive to cassettes of all kind. He felt like he’d reached nirvana, all the tapes were separated by main genres and then alphabetized, but it was obvious they were mainly variations of rock n roll.

“We sell em dirt cheap ‘cause no one ever wants em,” Ash commented as he picked up a tape and blew a small cloud of dust off it. “So go crazy, man.”

As he started to walk away, Dean called after him. “Hey, man…”

“Yeah?”

“I dig the haircut.”

Ash ran a hand through his mullet. “All business up front, party in the back.”

When he left, Dean actually did go crazy. Hell, by the time Cas showed up, he had three piles of cassettes including (but not limited to)--Lynyrd Skynyrd, Heart, The Grateful Dead, a Blue Oyster Cult tape he hadn’t realized he didn’t have, a copy of a Creedence Clearwater Revival tape he _used to_ have (until Sam stepped on it with his gigantor feet), both Cream and Eric Clapton, a Foreigner tape, some Hendrix, and some Joan Jett. Hell, he even picked up a Ramones tape as an ode to the lady who kept such a damn fine stock on hand.

He’d still been rifling through everything when he heard Ash’s voice trailing from the front of the store. “Castiel! What can we do for you today, my man?"

Castiel frowned at him. “I’m not  ‘your man,’ Ash. Is Dean here?” He asked, looking around.

Ash grinned. “Dean? You mean the cassette guy?” Cas nodded. “He’s in the back with the tapes.”

“Thank you. Tell Pamela I said hello.”

There was a crinkling sound as Cas made his way towards him, and when he finally appeared from one of the aisles, Dean could see it was from the large brown paper bag he was trudging along.

Dean raised an eyebrow at him. “Hey, Cas. Whatcha got there?”

Castiel took in the sight of Dean on the floor, shucked down to his last layer and surrounded by cassette tapes, with a smile on his face. He set the big bag down and devested himself of his scarf, pulled off his gloves, and unzipped his ridiculously puffy jacket before finally pulling something dark heather grey out of the paper bag and tossing it towards his roommate.

He held it up, finding that it was a thermal hoodie, and looked at Cas questioningly.

The blue-eyed boy gave him a bitchface that rivaled any of Sams, as if daring him to argue. “Sam and I will not survive the forty-five minute walk back to campus if you continue to sulk.”

“I don’t sulk.” Dean near-whined with a pout.

Castiel actually scoffed, gesturing towards Dean in a way which implied that he was sulking at that very moment. “Dean, all you do is sulk! I’ve seen more pouty-lips living with you than I have on three seasons of _Days of Our Lives_.”

Dean made a ‘ _pffffft_ ’ sound, looking away to cover the slight chagrin on his face. “You don’t even watch, _Days of Our Lives!_ ”

“No, but you do. And trust me, Dean, I have seen enough.” Cas rolled his eyes. Dean was not as sneaky as he thought he was when he tried to marathon his ‘girlier’ shows in secret on their communal laptop, which was stupid because Castiel was not going to judge him by his obsession for _Dr. Sexy MD._ He would judge him if he rejected the thermal, and the scarf and gloves he fished out of the brown bag and tossed towards him.

Dean was caught between indignation and embarrassment, but mostly he was just heart warmed. He wasn’t stupid, and neither was his best friend. He knew Cas was just poking fun at him so he’d stop being a dumbass and half freezing to death just to prove a point, without actually having to tell him that he was being a dumbass.

He looked up at Cas and gave him a warm smile. “Thanks, Cas.”

The smile he got back might have been smaller but it held no less warmth.

And that’s how the brunette from earlier found them a second later. Her bright green eyes shone with mirth as she smirked at the two, clearing her throat and interrupting their staring contest.

The boys grew flustered at being caught, although they hadn’t really been doing anything out of the ordinary. Cas felt his cheeks go warm and Dean fidgeted with the new hoodie in his lap.

“Hello, Pamela, this is Dean Winchester. Dean, this is Pamela Barnes.” Castiel introduced, as soon as he recovered.

Dean gave her his most charming smile. “Pleasure. This is quite a collection ya got here,”

Pamela saw right through his shit eating grin but she returned it easily. “And we keep it well stocked, so we best be seeing you around here more often.” She winked at him before turning to Castiel. “Castiel, we’ve got that one Serenade you were looking for. You know, the Elgar?” She handed him a record depicting a faded looking painting on the sleeve. “This one’s two sided,” she grinned at him mischievously, “It’s got Dvořák’s Serenade, too.”

Cas accepted the record from her with a ridiculously grateful look. “Thank you, Pamela.”

She nodded and gave the green-eyed teen one last flirty look before walking away, her jean-clad hips sauntering provocatively as she did.

Dean stared after her and when he blinked back to reality, he found Cas looking at him with an unreadable expression. “What?”

Castiel shrugged. “Nothing.” He looked at his watch and then glanced away for a moment before looking back at Dean. “We should get going, it’s nearly four.”

Dean watched him for a second longer before nodding. “Help me take these to the front and we can go get Sammy.”

The other boy relented, picking up as many cassettes as he could carry while his friend did the same. Ash rang them up at the counter and Pamela hollered out a goodbye from up the stairs. He placed all the tapes and the classical record in the big paper bag Cas had showed up with, before slipping on his new grey thermal and layering up properly with the new accessories that his roommate so graciously provided.

When they met up with Sam, the younger Winchester wisely held back any comments on the additions to his brother’s wardrobe and the three made their way to Harvelle’s Roadhouse.

They opened the door of the old bar only to be assaulted by REO Speedwagon’s _Can’t Fight This Feeling._ Dean let out a dramatic groan as he walked in, turning to see Jo Harvelle herself leaning against the jukebox. “Jo, seriously? Not this shit again!”

The blonde teen just grinned at him. From behind the bar, Ellen looked like she was about to reprimand him for his language but before she could Cas pipped up, “Dean, you were singing this very same song last week during one of your hour-long showers.”

Dean turned to glare at his traitorous friend.

Castiel looked unconcerned at the venomous look as he hung up his puffy jacket on a hook by the door, revealing the knit reindeer Dean hated so much. “He was singing it off-key, too.”

Sam and Jo were laughing so hard they had to wipe away tears, while Dean just looked away, trying to hide his mortification. “Shut up, Cas.” He added, taking a seat at the bar with his trademark pout.

Ellen chuckled. “I like this one.” She nodded towards Cas.

Castiel took the seat next to Dean and Dean mumbled their introductions. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Harvelle.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, son. And please, call me Ellen.” She wiped down the bar with an old rag and nodded towards Jo, who in turn walked over to the entrance and turned over the CLOSED sign.

Dean perked up immediately, sitting up straighter with an expectant look on his face.

Ellen took one look at him and shook her head. “Oh no you don’t, boy. I can’t be servin’ a bunch of underage kids at my bar!” She scoffed, “Tryin’ to get me in trouble. What I can do is offer you boys some beef soup.”

She looked around till they all acknowledged their consent before exiting towards the kitchen’s impact doors.

Jo made her way behind the bar the moment she was gone and laid out four coasters. She popped open three beers (Sam declined) and a coke before settling down between Sam and Dean.

Dean chuckled and clinked glasses with her. He took a sip and peered over at Cas, who raised an eyebrow at him, a slight smile playing at his lips. He didn’t touch his beer until after Ellen came back with a tray full of soup. She set down a bowl in front of each of them and obviously turned a blind eye towards the beer, despite the comment she’d made earlier.

Jo slurped a spoonful of broth. “So how’d you like the comic book store?” She asked, turning towards Sam.

Sam rolled his eyes. “No offense, Jo, but your taste in comic books sucks. They didn’t have any of the good stuff there.”

“It does not! That’s the best comic book store in town.”

“It’s the _only_ comic book store in town, sweetie.” Ellen pointed out.

Jo stuck her tongue out at her mom and then at Sam before scowling at her soup.

Dean grinned at his makeshift family. He ate up a hunk of beef, peeking at Cas, who seemed to be silently enjoying the company and the food. He nudged the boy with his elbow before getting up and heading towards the jukebox.

Jo narrowed her eyes at his back. “You better wiggle your ass away from that jukebox, Dean!”

“REO just ain’t soup eatin’ music, Jo!” Dean start flicking through the song selections, as he did he bent over slightly and purposefully shook his ass slowly. (Which Castiel totally didn’t stare at, no sir.)

Cas just shook his head, smiling. “What does ‘soup eatin’ music’ even _sound like,_ Dean?”

Sam barked out a laugh through a mouthful of noodles at that.

The eldest Winchester just flipped them all a bird behind his back and fed a quarter to the machine. He pressed a couple of buttons and a few seconds later the opening strains to _Black Water_ by the Doobie Brothers started booming out the speakers. He turned around with a raised eyebrow towards the group. “You were saying?”

Dean sat back down and began devouring his soup.

They all ate in silence for a bit, just enjoying the tunes and a nice meal with some friends before Jo asked the one question they’d all been waiting for: “Sooooo, boys, how’s Catholic school treatin’ you?”

Sam and Dean replied simultaneously, nearly overlapping each other’s answers.

Sam, with a huge grin on his face, exclaimed: “I love school!”

While Dean pretty much groaned out: _“Gaaaaayyyy.”_

Castiel bit down on his cheek to keep his expression neutral, but he did look down, a bit despondent at the knowledge that Dean wasn’t having a good time.

“But I _did_ get to meet Cas, so I guess it’s not all that bad.” He added, grinning across the table at the dark haired boy.

Castiel, for some reason, found himself surprised at the sentiment. He looked up and met his roommates grin somewhat hesitantly.

Sam, on the other hand, looked towards Ellen and Jo, rolling his eyes behind their backs with a smirk.

Jo simply smiled and asked Cas about his classes, jumping them all into one big discussion until it was time for them to start heading back. Sam and Dean kissed the girls’ cheeks goodbye and promised to come back soon. Jo gave Cas a hug, which he returned awkwardly, welcoming him to come back as well.

“Whenever you want,” Ellen added, “Don’t just wait for these two knuckleheads to drag their asses out of bed.”

Castiel, in all seriousness, informed them he would.

The trio bundled up and started their trek back to _Our Lady Of Perpetual Sorrow._ A fourty-five minute walk that ended up taking little over an hour because now that Dean had an actual pair of gloves, he went ahead and started that snow ball fight he’d been itching for.

The three were sopping wet and covering in snow by the time they reached campus.

Sam bid them farewell as he ran off towards his dorm. Exhaustion caught up to the other two as they reached their room, and Cas yawned, shucking off his coat and his red rain boots in a corner. He turned towards Dean with a smiteful look on his face. “I’m showering first. I’d die of hypothermia if I had to wait for you.”

Dean rolled his eyes and waved him away as he started to strip off the layers of moist clothing.

Castiel grabbed his towel and disappeared into their bathroom.

Dean sighed. He took his new hoodie and carefully hung it up in his closet along with his dad’s leather jacket. Running his hands through his short, wet hair, he decided to kill time by putting away all of their things (including his new cassette tapes and Cas’s new record) until Castiel finally emerged from the steamy bathroom in a set of flannel pajamas.

He tossed Dean a set of fuzzy Pink Floyd pajama pants that had triangular prisms from _Dark Side Of The Moon_ stamped all over them. “I forgot to tell you I did laundry yesterday.”

They usually did their own laundry separately, but Castiel went ahead and washed these for Dean because he knew it was going to be a cold night and Dean only owned three pairs of pajama pants. (All of which were dirty. Plus he knew these specific pants were Dean’s favorite.)

Dean grinned. “Thanks, Cas.” He grabbed his pants and his towel and made way for the bathroom.

By the time he got out thirty minutes later, Cas was already snoring.

 


End file.
